


The Dragon Bride

by Caffiend



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Mythology, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Attempted Kidnapping, Dragon Clan, Dragon transformation, F/M, Imprinting, Oral Sex, Sweet Sex, Thor is an idiot, giving virginity, hatchling, loki sort of does the right thing, springtime celebrations, springtime with Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which Loki, who is sullenly accompanying his mother and Thor to a spring festival on the Dragon Clan's moon, finds himself (sort of) doing the right thing for a change.
Relationships: Guðrún and Loki, Loki and OFC
Comments: 103
Kudos: 121
Collections: Spring Time with Loki





	The Dragon Bride

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU, where Loki learns early from his mother Frigga that he was adopted after being snatched from Jotunnheim. Because unlike Odin, Frigga is not an asshole. But the truth of his heritage is still hidden from the rest of Asgard.

“Do explain again mother, why we are required to visit this backward, inconsequential moon?”

Loki was in a petulant mood, and the prince of Asgard intended to make everyone suffer along with him. Thor had already spurred his horse to ride ahead with The Imbeciles Three, and Odin - of course - had not joined them on the trip to the tiny moon of Kúplingu Drekans to witness the spring festival. The Allfather made some lofty statements about the crucial nature of the current negotiation (threat) he was conducting with whatever Realm unlucky enough to have gained his notice. 

“You know quite well, darling, that we are here to represent Asgard during what is considered the most sacred season of the moon’s full rotation, it only happens once every 1,000 years.” Frigga smiled over at the scowl that graced her son’s chiseled jawline. “It is quite the sight, I have seen it only twice.” 

The castle of the Drekan Clan was before them, and Loki smoothed out his expression to the usual one of urbane amusement as townspeople, decked in flowers and their best clothing, cheered their arrival. Thor began waving Mjölnir excitedly, nearly braining his own horse in the process. The queen sighed. “Loki, please join your brother and attempt to subdue his enthusiasm.”

The younger prince of Asgard, who’d had his skull caved in once or twice by his brother’s inexpert handling of his sacred hammer, gave the briefest of sighs and spurred his horse.

“Who rules this rock?” Thor bellowed in a voice that he thought was subtle. The stiffening of the guards around them told him his idiot brother’s query was quite clear.

“King Guðmundur and Queen Hekla,” Loki reminded him, “the Drekan Clan is one of the oldest families in the Nine Realms, so perhaps, brother, you could show some respect for their customs.”

To his credit, Thor attempted to lower his voice to the point that it no longer rattled the windows and toppled statuary. “I’m trying to remember…” he mumbled. “Something about an egg hatching?”

The younger prince narrowed his eyes threateningly as Fandral and Volstagg broke out into what could only be characterized as a giggle. “This egg, brother, contains the heir of the Drekan Clan. She will emerge from it fully grown and is then betrothed to the clan’s selection for her mate. It is said…” Loki lowered his voice as they passed through a huge stone corridor, “...that upon mating, she assumes her true form, that of a dragon, and heralds another millennium of peace and prosperity for her people.”

This caused another round of titters from the Cretins Three - two, rather since Hogan was listening to the story. “I recall the legends,” he agreed slowly. “I met the last hatchling from the Royal Draken clutch. She was…” the stoic warrior’s description died as he stood, lost in thought.

"She was the sun,” Frigga agreed as she entered their guest chambers. “The moon and all the stars.” Arching an elegant brow at her surprised sons, she added, “I hosted her entourage on Vanaheim, Hogan was with me then. She was quite…” even the queen searched for the proper adjective, “quite, _quite._ Was she not, Hogun?”

“Indeed,” his dark eyes were far away. 

Loki shook his head. The sight of the most stoic warrior in Odin’s army reduced to a fatuous youth? This clan’s clutch must produce an extraordinary creature indeed.

Refreshed - and in Thor’s case, forcibly put into a clean tunic and his beard combed - the Asgardian delegation made their way to the massive garden where the ceremony would take place. Thousands of tiny lights flickered and darted through the air, lighting the endless expanse of rolling green fields with banners and tents in deep green and gold - the clan’s colors. Since they were his as well, Loki was already feeling more appreciative of this ceremony as he was handed a tall flute of an unimaginably exquisite drink, one that warmed the throat but spread as tiny bubbles of light through his system. As his jade eyes darted through the festivities, he found Royal couple standing close to a raised dais, a shimmering crystal with a bed of wadded silk on top, and nestled within the cloth, a ... well, it really was an egg, Loki thought with some amusement. He’d thought perhaps that it was a figure of speech - surely, these hugely tall, fiercely beautiful people did not emerge from a shell, like a common chicken. The vision almost sent him into a round of laughter, which he quickly concealed as a cough. 

There were royal delegations from nearly all the Nine Realms, Musphelheim produced no witnesses, King Surtur still bitter over his defeat many millennia ago, and none he recognized from Jotunnheim. The crowd swirled and eddied as closely as they dared around the dais, pressing closer when King Guðmundur ascended the stairs, standing before the egg and raising his arms.

“Welcome, honored guests!” he roared, the sound of his voice amplifying over the crowd, swirling like the howl of the wind, the bellow from an unimaginably huge bird of prey. “Welcome, clan members. We join together tonight for the most sacred of times, our Spring Ceremony when we present a new hatchling to her people, to her intended.” Guðmundur nodded graciously to a richly decorated young man, his sallow face alight and eager. Loki recognized him as the Crown Prince of Svartalfheim, Malekith and named unfortunately for his grandfather, butchered by Odin in his younger, stronger days. The prince, as he’d heard, went simply by “Mal” to avoid the association, something Loki despised. _If one is to be born under a dark sign, embrace it. Flaunt it, you ridiculous fop!_ He thought irritably. The prince's contemptuous musings were interrupted as he, Frigga and Thor stepped close to the crystal dais to witness the hatching of the new princess.

Even one as jaded as the God of Mischief had to acknowledge, the process was … magnificent. Spiritual. Overwhelming, even, as the chorus rose from the clan, soaring and flying over the crowd, light as bird’s wings but embedding into his soul like a talon. Loki drew closer, fascinated to see a violet light begin to rotate through the huge egg. One pale hand reached for the smooth surface of the egg, so he was admittedly distracted and surprised as the rest of the crowd by the explosion that ripped a hole through this world and into another as the first long, long blue leg stepped through. 

“The Jotunn’s suit for the hatchling was rejected unjustly!” The voice was polar with fury, and the crowd gasped as the smoke cleared enough to see Þrymr, the son of the Jotunn King Laufey, backed by a group of giant warriors, bristling with ice swords and spears. “You would give this treasure to the Svartálfar? I think not!” But as the Jotnar charged for the dais, the egg was suddenly empty, and it’s precious cargo gone, along with Loki.

___________________________

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was the first coherent thought the Hatchling had as she stumbled, nearly falling to the stone floor before a hard arm swept around her, lifting her easily back on to her feet. And when she turned around, the first thing she saw clearly in her new life was the most _beautiful_ man.

 _“Yours,”_ the Hatchling sighed rapturously.

“Where is Prince Loki and what has he done with my daughter!” It was the Asgardians first chance to see the fury of a mother of the Draken Clan and they all hoped the last. Even Thor was cringing slightly under the rage of Queen Helka, who strode toward them, roaring, hands extended and already tipped by alarmingly long and razor-sharp claws. 

It was Queen Frigga who stepped forward. “Helka, you know that he took her to protect her from the Jotnar attack. We have only to contact him to let him know it is safe to return.”

She was correct, the Jotunn Prince Þrymr and his guard were routed surprisingly quickly by the combined forces of so many visiting royal delegations. “They had planned for the element of surprise,” Thor added, still flushed and beaming from the unexpected - but deeply appreciated - violence. “But my brother far more cunning.”

“Slippery,” volunteered Fandral.

“Weaselly,” added Volstag.

Their assurances didn’t seem to comfort the Dragon Queen, who was still huffing in in fury. Frigga, uncomfortably aware that smoke was coming from the woman’s nostrils, hastily added, “I assure you, my friend, your hatchling is well-guarded with my son. And when he knows the danger has passed, he will bring her home.”

  
  


_____________________

_Norns!_

Loki gently tried to remove the two little hands currently smoothing over the chest plate his armor, their owner humming happily as she examined him with soft touches. “Princess - you must - darling, I am attempting to keep you from danger until I can return you home. But first, you must allow me to - CEASE!”

The Hatchling’s hands shot back and she curled her arms over her chest, looking up at him with tears beginning to spill from those wide, innocent eyes, which were really, quite distracting. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

“It is quite all right, I am not angry with you, darling. But you are newly hatched and I must return you to your clan…” Loki’s attempt at nobility was rapidly being eaten away as she took his hand, her fingers smoothing along his longer ones and feeling rather… Groaning internally as his lower half began stirring and taking notice, he attempted to step back. The princess promptly took a step to follow him, and the awkward little dance continued until the back of his legs hit the back of the huge bed in the center of the room and she happily tumbled over on top of him. 

“Beautiful…” she sighed before inexpertly placing her lips on his. 

For one moment, the God of Mischief truly intended to firmly, but gently remove her mouth from his and put her back in a secure position, preferably one several thousand feet from him. But then the sweetness of her mouth overwhelmed his severely taxed sense of duty, and Loki rolled her under him and took over the kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, sweeping over her teeth and tangling her tongue with his.

The Hatchling didn’t know what to expect when she emerged into the world, but she was sentient from the moment her egg was gently laid in its nest of silks. She knew she was to marry, she knew history and art and warfare and how to arrange a banquet for thousands of people. She could explain the molecular structure of wheat and the perfect combination of wind and lightning to soar just slightly higher than even dragon wings can bear. But she had never known about the power of a simple pressing of lips to another’s. And this man’s kiss… His lips were thin, and firm, his tongue was a wicked bit of flesh that teased along the seam of her mouth and he bit down very gently on her lower lip and a growl rumbled through his chest when she mindlessly wrapped one leg over the small of his back.

Loki’s hand slid down, spanning her ribcage and then moving to cup her breast, so soft under her thin gown and that frantic little heart pattering away. Yanking the bodice aside, he moved down her pale throat to greedily suck a nipple into his mouth. The taste of this girl… He finally came to his senses some time later when he’d gathered up her skirt and his leather-clad cock was rubbing insistently against her lusciously wet center. Both of her legs were wrapped around his waist and she was enthusiastically rising up to meet his thrusts.

“Oh, Hatchling…” he groaned, placing random kisses on her collarbones, sucking red marks into her soft skin before placing his forearms on either side of her head, gently caging her in with his long body. It was silent for a moment, save for their panting as they tried to regain some semblance of composure.

“What’s your name?” Her huge golden eyes blinked up at him owlishly and Loki began howling with laughter, and after a moment, the princess hatched from an egg joined him, giggling over the absurdity of her birth and the events that followed.

Helping her sit up and gently pulling her dress to cover those really, quite tempting breasts, Loki admired her beauty. Her black hair and pale skin were so very much like his, her body long and lean and it fit so neatly under his. How could he not find her exquisite in every way?

Looking around the vast stone room, she took a deep breath. “Where are we? I can see by the weather-” she nodded to one of the floor to ceiling windows where a blizzard raged outside, “that we are not on Kúplingu Drekans.”

Leading her over to a chair pulled close to the fireplace large enough to roast an ox and carved with many fine representations of Loki’s adventures throughout the Nine Realms, he settled her and with a casual flick of his fingers, started a roaring fire.

The Hatchling’s eyes widened and she clapped delightedly. “You have seiðr? How very wonderful. It is not much practiced in my clan, we do not seem to carry that gift.”

It was refreshing to be admired for his skills and talents, rather than dismissed for them, raised in Asgard where brute force was valued over stealth and effectiveness. Smiling down at her eager face, Loki felt the stirring of … ugh, was that tenderness? It was an emotion he’d never felt for anyone save his mother. But the Hatchling…

“What do you remember of your emergence from your shell?” he asked, bringing her a plate of meat cooked quite rare.

“Oh! Thank you, Prince Loki, I am quite hungry.” She took dainty nibbles that made the fact that she was devouring nearly raw meat quite palatable. “I remember … I remember the light, hearing the music and the chanting from my father. And then I saw you, and there was nothing else.” The girl’s dreamy smile was making it harder to focus as the blood left his brain and headed south.

They spoke for some time by the fire, he was startled by the depth of her knowledge in fields that interested him as well, they laughed at the same things, they added to each other’s sentences. Her body was fluid and she moved and swayed with him as he spoke, using his long, elegant hands to make a point.

“How have you attained such a treasure trove of knowledge, my little Hatchling?” Loki was idly kissing the tip of each of her dainty fingers, enjoying how she shivered. 

“We are never alone as we grow inside our shells,” the princess said, “the accumulated knowledge of Clan Draken passes through to us, though once we are imprinted, some information becomes more important, brought to the forefront of our understanding to bond with our Intended.”

“You could not be more perfect…” the prince cocked his head. “Do you have a name?”

Eyes sparkling, she leaned close. “I do. But it can only be spoken after we have mated.”

A red haze washed over Loki’s vision and he picked the girl up, slinging her over his shoulder as she laughed. This time when the princess landed on the bed, she was already stripped of her clothing, arms reaching eagerly for him as he made a negligent gesture with his fingers and was magnificently nude. 

They were a vision together, long, dark hair merging as long, pale limbs curled together. As he rolled over her, Loki nipped down to her inner thigh, enjoying the barest rumble of a growl she gave as his cool mouth moved closer to her fiery center.

“Oh! What is-” Chilly lips fastened eagerly on her pink clitoris as the prince slammed a heavy forearm over her hips, holding her in place as she attempted to surge upwards.

“Now, now naughty thing, you must be good for me, little Hatchling,” Loki purred, feeling the rumble of it echo through her soft lower lips. Feeling her fingers slip through the heavy silk of his hair, he grinned and bent to his task again, pointing his long and dexterous tongue and thrusting it up the passage where he intended to be quite shortly. His teeth nibbled along her swollen lips and tugged, enjoying her breathy little shriek. “You are feeling quite warm and wet, are you not?” The God of Mischief’s voice alone was sexual alchemy, sinking through the girl’s nerve endings and making her shiver with sheer need. She could feel her knees draw up, long legs spread toes pointing in instinctive desperation.

“Please, my lovely prince,” she moaned, “I need … ah … I know not what but I need it, please!”

“You need,” Loki soothed, so filled with a greed and gleefulness that he simply could wipe the leering grin from his face, “you need my cock, dear Hatchling. Be a good girl and ask politely, and I shall bring you to fulfillment over and over until you lose consciousness.” 

She was flushed now, his beautiful girl, a pink stain spreading over her milky cheek, and when her eyes looked into his, he could see the first swirls of red make their way over the golden iris. As he knelt over her, cock in hand, Loki was struck with a significance he’d not felt before, the first breaching of this lovely goddess. He had no interest in virgins, unlike his oaf of a brother who enjoyed bragging about the number of maidenheads he’d taken. Loki preferred the practiced wiles of older, more experienced women who were not shy about what they wanted from him, and taught him generously about what they wished in return. But this princess… Gently entering her, he swirled his hips lightly, moving in and out in a slow rhythm like a heartbeat, his cock pulsing as he stretched her wide. There was no simpering or wails of distress from her, the Draken heiress locked her long legs around him, ran nails down his skin that felt more like talons as they traveled over his back and began cooing, a rumbling echoing his movements inside her as she threw her head back. “Oh, my dear prince, more please, please, please!”

Leaning close to bite her earlobe sharply, Loki whispered, “As you wish.” Pulling his agile hips back, he slammed into her hard, enjoying her startled shriek. “Is this what you pleaded for, Hatchling? Is this what you needed? My cock inside you, spearing you open?” Barely losing a stroke, he flipped her over and hauled her hips up, pushing her elegant, long spine into an arch as he thrust back in. Taking a generous fistful of her curls, he pulled her head up, enjoying her panting and something that sounded rather close to chirping. “Or do you prefer I take you as a dragon takes his mate? Fucking into you as you present so beautifully, so eagerly for me?” Her arms were shaking and he knew she was close, so one big hand reached for her breasts, squeezing eagerly while the tips of two fingers circled over her clitoris again. “Your pearl here,” he whispered into her ear, “it presents all sorts of delights to a sweet virgin like you…” Loki’s calloused fingertips brushed lightly over her clit in contrast to the rough, greedy way he was gripping her breast and when he drew his hips back one last time, he had just enough presence of mind to growl, “Come now, pretty Hatchling, or I shall not allow you to come at all.”

And just as he knew his good, sweet girl would, she did, back snapping into an arch and her channel squeezing him cock so tightly it felt strangled, the pleasure/pain forcing Loki to come again, and as his cool spend flooded her, the princess came again.

Of course, because the path of Loki’s life could never be smooth, there was no time to back in their mutual afterglow. 

The explosion roused them both from their brief moment of near-unconsciousness, and within seconds the prince of Asgard was back in his armor, two viciously tipped daggers drawn. And when he heard the shouts of the invaders in Jotunn, he realized he’d underestimated his ability to keep the location of his “Spring Chateau” on Jotunheim as secret.

“Surrender the Hatchling, brother!” hissed his odious half-brother Þrymr, ruby eyes glowing with eagerness to finally kill Laufey’s firstborn and take the Draken Princess for his own. It was the last thing he ever uttered.

Behind him, Loki could hear a tearing and ripping sound, the vibration of a body torn apart and reforming and finally, a roar that tore through the massive chamber, making the stones shudder and dust and pebbles raining down from the rafters. Then, a displacement of air as massive wings stretched open for the first time. 

The Princess of the Draken Clan was in her full, mature presentation. 

Loki’s daggers actually drooped for a moment as he turned to witness the sheer, terrifying beauty of the green and gold dragon behind him, mouth opened in a bellow and displaying terrifyingly sharp teeth. The firelight traveled along the endless expanse of her golden scales, her flared spine was the color of a forest at midnight and viciously sharp as a razor. When the Draken spread her wings, they touched each end of the seemingly endless hall before snapping into a vicious snare that crushed a dozen Jotunn warriors into an oozing cobalt pulp. Stepping aside elaborately, he swept an arm graciously toward the stunned warriors. “All yours, darling. I shall just finish off Laufey’s most useless son.”

As grisly and horrifying as the outcome was, the vision of Loki, Prince of Asgard and the Hatchling Princess of Kúplingu Drekans dispatching the unfortunate Jotunn warriors was elegant, graceful as they swirled around each other. Vicious, deadly, and utterly beautiful. And when it was over, the two stood in a rubble of body parts and blue blood splashed like water on every surface.

“Well, this is a mess,” Loki sniffed, and they were gone again.

“And where are we now?” the dragon princess asked, once again in her original form. She looked out the open window of the wooden structure and looked down. “A treehouse!”

“Hmmm, in Vanaheim,” he agreed, coming behind her to slide his arms around her waist, looking out over the endless stretch of forest. “It was, perhaps ill-advised bringing you to my spring chateau on Jotunheim, but really, it is one of the most comfortable and spacious of my hideaways.”

“And because it is your birthplace?” She’d turned in his arms and was looking up at him, radiating pride and trust. 

When Loki tried to step away, she held tight. “You have seen my true form, beloved. Will you not show me yours?”

This time, as he laid his Hatchling on to the bed and spread her hair over the pillows and her legs wide around his waist, the God of Mischief was blue, a glorious, sweeping cobalt stippled with midnight blue lines and dots that created a powerful canvas. As they finished together and gripped each other, chests heaving, she licked her lips and leaned closer to his ear.

“My name is Guðrún.”

__________________

“I assure you, my friend, your hatchling is well-guarded with my son. And when he knows the danger has passed, he will bring her home.”

Just seconds after Frigga uttered her assurances to the Draken Queen, there was a brilliant burst of light and Loki stepped through it, leading Princess Guðrún by the hand. He stood back graciously as the girl was enfolded in her mother’s arms, and then her father’s with tears and questions and patting of cheeks and smoothing of hair.

“Well done, my son.” Asgard’s queen smiled fondly as she kissed her youngest on his cool cheek. “You saved the princess. How did you keep her from imprinting upon you?” Even watching closely, anyone else would have seen nothing but Loki’s expression of regal indifference. But Frigga knew her son.

“She did,” his lips barely moved, and she squeezed his limp hand. “But the Princess Guðrún knows duty, from incalculable millennia of her clan’s experience. We returned to fulfill her role to her promised Intended.” 

Watching closely as the Svartalfheim prince stepped eagerly to greet his dragon bride, Loki’s gaze moved with her hand as it slipped past her jeweled belt to rest briefly on her flat abdomen. Looking to his mother, he knew she caught the slight movement as well.

“And I’m sure it’s a coincidence that you selected your spring lodge for this rescue?” Frigga mused, “Where time does not move at the same speed as most of the Nine Realms?”

“At the time,” he allowed, “it was coincidence, but a fortunate one.”

Looking at her son with love, she barely whispered, “How long was your time with the princess?”

Without moving his emerald gaze from the Hatchling, Loki managed to answer her. “Three months.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always for reading! I like to think of this as a timeline where Loki would still be the mischievous little bastard he was meant to be, but with a sense of duty and belonging he would have kept if he'd known about his true heritage.
> 
> This story is not inspired by A Painter's Embrace, but if you love A/B/O dynamics, but based in a world of winged elite descended from dragons, this is a beautiful, ridiculously hot story with a Regency style Pride and Prejudice setting with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes from Tilltheendwilliwrite. Find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051618


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